The Eldest Sister
by The Puce Pimpernel
Summary: Oneshot based on a Celtic Song, Two Sisters. A tale of fickleness and jealousy, in which a younger sister tramples her elder's dreams and receives what the elder sister deems as her just reward. Not based on a musical, just a song


A/N: Okay, so I was feeling all down and didn't want to write on my other fic, so then I decided to finally do this oneshot that I've been planning. It's from a song called "Two sisters" that is on a CD of mine (Clannad). Yes, I like Celtic music. And yes, my taste in music is very diversified. Well, yeah. So this is from the perspective of the elder sister. Enjoy! (hopefully?)

John was _mine_.

And she stole him.

She didn't even want him, really. You could tell by the way she'd flaunt that ring he gave her, shoving it in everyone's faces. And that hat – beaver-skin, expensive. She wore it to _church_ for pity's sake. All vanity.

But she didn't want _him_. She didn't care about _him_. She didn't even know him all that well.

We met him in the summer; he was visiting an aunt that lived not to far from us. We danced together at one of the country balls - thrown by the McHavishes, I think. It was the first dance set, the most important. And he asked _me_.

Needless to say I was thrilled to be asked by an unknown, handsome young man if I would give him the honor of dancing the first two with him. I accepted, and we became acquainted.

He was very amiable, and I soon discovered that he enjoyed playing at cards. Now, our father also liked to play at cards, as did my mother, so a week after the ball, we sent him an invitation to join us for dinner, followed by a few games. This he accepted with great enthusiasm, and I found I was quite excited by his coming.

My mother had hopes for a match between Mr. Jonathan Dervings and myself. He was quite the respectable man, well off in financial means, making three thousand per annum. The match would be advantageous, as my younger brother, my father's only son, would be inheriting the estate, while my sister and I were left with only a reasonable dowry and a small income from our brother. I was exceedingly fond of him, though Francis, his governess, spoiled him a bit too much.

John, pleasingly, also became fond of the young boy when he dined with us. My sister was out gallivanting in town, and would be dining with our neighbors that evening – quite rude, in light of the fact that we had a guest. She often did that – brushed other people and hospitality aside, ignoring polite society's rules.

All was going well. When the men entered the parlor after dinner, John came to sit near me, and we conversed like intimate friends. I heard all about his childhood, his family, and his plans of marrying in the near future. He, in turn, listened as I told about my childhood, family, and plans of marrying in the near future.

My mother came to hover nearby, however, interrupting a lovely talk about where he wanted to live, once he was wed. The evening progressed with cards, and Mr. Dervings returned to his aunt's estate.

The wonderful feeling inside of me made me feel like I could soar up into the sky. It left me breathless. He was an amazing man, and was clearly interested in seeing me again, as he came the next day to ask if I might enjoy a stroll through the gardens and grounds of the estate. I agreed and we set out on the small path that led out under the trees and, eventually, over along the river at the far end of our land.

The brisk walk was simply and absolutely magnificent - glorious, even. We discussed books, politics, the society of our little area of –shire. The topics were endless, and we were never at a loss for words.

We trod alongside the riverbed, and stopped to rest on one of the path's many benches. He seemed very attentive and made it appear as though he were about to ask something, but thought better of it. Regardless, he made it clear that he would call on me again.

That night I was in bliss. My sister didn't understand the emotions I was feeling. I was becoming very attached to John and felt that soon I should be entirely in love. And I was. He came calling the next day, and we walked again around the grounds, conversing the whole way, as before. It was all such a beautiful time that I wondered if t'were not but a dream, a fantasy. But no, he was quite real and, as it turned out, humanly fickle.

The third day he came calling at our house, I had stepped out for an errand. Hoping it would not take long, I soon discovered that it would be much more difficult to get the particular type of lace that I was hoping for. Returning with the hope of seeing John, I entered the front room to find that he had already come and was then sitting with my mother and sister.

My mother was sitting over her needlework, animatedly chatting away. However, my attention was caught by something else. My sister was wearing the lace that I had wanted to order, but had been unable. She had purchased the last of it, though I knew she had seen me pick it out earlier that week.

Selfish, ungrateful child!

She sat there, all flaunt and flirt, cooing over Mr. John's words. Every ounce of wit he produced was greeted with uproarious laughter. I thought surely he would be offended and paled to think of this new obstruction. Mayhap he would deign the connection to my family unfit? He would reject me because of my silly, pompous sister?

But no, he didn't. In fact, he wasn't offended at all. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying himself highly. In fact, he later asked _her_ to walk with him around the grounds, only adding me as an afterthought of politeness.

I was devastated. He was to be my husband. If she had restrained herself and followed the proper rules of society, she wouldn't even be out at that time. I would have had to be married before she would be allowed to find suitors. Not the other way around.

I declined the offer, thinking him lost to those golden curls and pretty looks. She really _was_ much prettier than I. I had an almost plain face and brown hair that wouldn't always stay curled. My sister had sparkling eyes, rosy cheeks, and a fair face. Her blond hair would stay in whatever style her maid contrived.

She was the absolutely stunning Alice. I was the average, everyday Martha, called Mary.

I made the excuse of promising to play with Edward, our brother, and said I would be in the playroom when they returned. But I when I climbed the steps to the second level, I turned and continued up to the attic room, where I could look out at the grounds.

The sun was shining abysmally over the grounds, and a fair wind stirred the trees. They would be having a fine time. He was probably enjoying her company, her lively, flattering ways, much more than my steady conversation over life. They would be conversing on the theater and great dancing parties he was sure to have attended in the city, or something equally grandiose.

And I sat there miserably on the dusty floor, tears spilling down my cheeks, with my back against the wall, staring at the darkened room. Everything was covered in white sheets as protection from the dust, giving them the appearance of hiding specters and other ghostly beings from the netherworld in fairy stories.

What might have been hours later, they returned and, only sending his farewells up by way of Alice, he left. He had not even bothered to come to the playroom, where I then sat, reading quietly to Ed, as he sat on my lap. When Edward found that his new friend had left without coming up to say goodbye, he was quite sad, and I consoled him as best I could. We were both abandoned, a pair, thrust out of John's mind by our gloating sister.

I tried to move past the incident, but as I soon discovered that Alice was meeting John in town, it proved quite difficult. I still loved him, though he had scorned me for my own sister. So I spent my days in melancholy sketches, whiling away the hours, feeling empty.

I know she knew. She _knew_. She knew that I loved him, and that's why she stole him. She had always seemed to want what I had. Or was going to have. Like the lace. And while she often couldn't take the other things that she wanted, she _could_ steal John.

She called him_ Johnny_. How appallingly beyond her station in life. They were not intimate friends! Even I, though I had spent three days in conversation with him, would not be so trite as to call him by anything other than Mr. Dervings or Mr. John. This added to my misery.

And then, to further infuriate me, she pined after a beaver skin hat. When they were in town, she declared that she simply _had_ to have it. But she would never have enough money for an expensive hat like that. So of course, being the gentleman that he was, John purchased it for her, beaming as he presented it to her the next day at our house.

She immediately put it on, looking the completely foolish. Declaring it absolutely perfect, she insisted that they take a stroll along the road, so she could show it off. He willingly obliged.

She made me so angry that night, I was tempted to take up the hat and throw it in the river, or the fire, or _anywhere_ where she wouldn't be able to get at it. But I didn't. I could control myself. At least, I could _then_.

The next day John came calling, but my sister had a slight headache, and wished that he wouldn't see her in her sorrowful, pathetic state. So he was forced to settle for me. We set out around the grounds and were soon in friendly conversation, as though he had never met my sister.

Why did he have to be so amiable?

The longer we spoke, the less my sister came up in the conversation. Soon, he was thinking only of me, and it was glorious again. The sun's light no longer seemed an intrusion, but a blessing.

But the blessing didn't last. It began to rain as we neared the river, and we were forced to flee to a small lean-to shack by the water's edge for cover. We were much too far from the house to make it back without becoming drenched and risking illness.

It was heavenly. He was the perfect gentleman, very attentive and kind. He showed great concern for my health the next day, inquiring after me from a friend. I was thoroughly in love by that time, and I was sure that he loved me as well.

Perhaps he did, but he wasn't true.

The next week, he called for both my sister and myself. I thought it highly undue, that she be included in our walks, but he continued to enjoy her company.

And then, one day, he made his true feelings known.

He bought my sister a gold ring, and asked for permission to be her suitor. I was shocked, as was my father. But my mother happily grabbed at the chance to marry off one of her daughters, not really caring which it was.

She immediately accepted, with as much noise and disturbance as she could muster, and promptly set out to tell all of her acquaintances in town. She probably stopped everyone she saw on the road to boast of her latest success.

Really, for her, he was just another accomplishment. Another possession she had gained. She eagerly looked forward to living in his estate, with all the land surrounding it.

I shut myself into our room and crawled into bed.

It wasn't _fair_.

I met him first. I was the one he danced with. I was the one he had called on, before _she_ showed up. He should have been true to _me_.

But he wasn't. So I cried quietly, all afternoon. I wouldn't come down for dinner. He was dining with us, and I couldn't face him.

I just lay there, mumbling that _I_ had been true to _him_. I would continue to be true to him, if he would only be true to me.

I eventually fell into a doze, and was wakened briefly when my sister unlocked the door to come to bed. I hid my face, that she might not know I had been crying. And after donning her dressing gown, she climbed into our bed and whispered to me about how excited she was. I turned away from her as more silent tears rolled down my face.

The next day, my sister declared that we should take a stroll along the path. I tried to decline, but she wouldn't hear of it. She said, with a smile, we might not get much opportunity of being along in the future. So we set off along that winding path under the trees, her chatting all the while about how much _land_ "Johnny" had and how happy she would be to move into his large house and how exciting her new life would be.

As she continued to prattle on about such trivial things, I became more and more frustrated. It was increasingly obvious that she didn't know anything about the man other than the fact that he was rich.

I began to wonder what would have happened if John had never met her. I would be in her position. Except that I wouldn't have been mooning over the land, I would just be excited to be marrying him. Because I loved him. She loved his _land_.

The sun shone through the branches of the trees we passed under, catching on the dust in the air, creating shafts of golden light.

She didn't know what he liked. She didn't know his family, and she didn't know him. She started talking about all of the dresses she was going to buy. Did she know how much that hurt me – her, talking about it like that? She was flaunting the fact that she had "won" John away from me.

We were just coming up to the river, passing the shack where John and I had been stranded during the rain. That brought a fresh wave of misery and resentment. If _she_ hadn't been there…

John was mine, and she had _stolen_ him.

The breaking point came when she started admiring her ring aloud, _oo_ing and _ah_ing, praising the sparkle, the shine. She was doing it on purpose! I couldn't take any more of her prideful gloating. If she just wasn't there. I reacted before I even thought. My hands reached out and pushed her straight into the river, straight into the churning waters.

The dark abyss swallowed her completely, continuing to spray foam everywhere. A moment later, her arms and head broke the surface a short ways ahead. I ran to catch up to where she was. I had to trot to keep up with her flailing splashes floating downriver. She was swept up against a large stone close to the bank, and she clung to it desperately.

"Mary, help me! Give me your hand!" she screamed, reaching out her hand, stretching it as far as it would reach.

"Mary, please! Your hand!" she repeated, eyes wide. She looked half-crazed. When I still stood there without response, just watching, she turned desperate.

"Sister, _give me your_ _hand!_" she panicked as the current was prying her grip from the rock. She slipped. I remained silent, but followed her along the course of the river.

She couldn't swim, and her fancy dress was dragging her down.

She got a loose hold on a large branch floating along with her and it caught on some more rocks.

"Mary!" She was terrified.

I stood on the very edge of the bank without a word.

"Mary, give me your hand and…and…and you can have Johnny and all of his land! Please!" And there it was. Proof that she knew what she was doing. She had stolen him, even though she _knew_ how much he meant to me.

But when she wasn't there, John had forgotten about her. So if she was gone for good…

I finally responded to my sister's cries for help.

"Sister, I'll not give you my hand, and I'll still have _Johnny_ and all of his land. Goodbye, Alice," I said, in a sing-song sort of way. She only had time to register a dismayed face before the branch to which she was so desperately clinging snapped, sending her under the water and around the bend.

I found out later that she floated down the river to just outside the next town, catching the side of the miller's dam. When he noticed her in the water, he fished her out quickly, for he noticed the golden ring that was on her finger. But once he had the ring, pushed her back in the water, abandoning her to its icy depths.

Her body was found downriver, washed up on a shallow bar.

When the miller tried to sell the ring, the jeweler recognized it. He alerted John, who in turn asked after Alice. When they found her body, his town tried him for murder, took him up the mountain, and hanged him.

That was last Tuesday.

Our house was the picture of mourning. My mother's pride and joy was gone. Her youngest, favorite, soon-to-be-married daughter was no longer living. She tried to keep busy, but broke into sobs and tears every few moments. My father shut himself away in his study. Edward had an easier time. He seemed to think that Alice had gone to get married and, though he missed her, didn't understand why everyone was crying so much.

I sat quietly in the corner of the darkened playroom, holding Ed on my lap, thinking over what had happened. What I had done. I squeezed him tightly as I tried to justify my actions. But I couldn't. I had killed her to get John. But now he was twisted with grief, coming nowhere near our house.

Why had I thought he loved me?

After all, I was the plain sister, the eldest.

I tried to keep what I had done hidden, tried to pretend it never happened, but the guilt dug at me. I had _killed_. My own _sister_. My Alice.

I used to be so jealous of her when we were little. Always everyone's favorite when they would visit. Our aunts would shower her with praise over her looks. Like _she _had anything to do with it.

Once, she took my favorite china doll, and cracked the beautiful little painted face. I was so angry when she gave it back that I pushed her to the ground and she scraped her knee. The situation was ironically similar in many ways, only this time, she couldn't be bandaged.

But my silence wasn't enough. The old miser's wife who lived on the other side of the river had been out on a walk that day as well, and had seen and heard the whole thing. She was reclusive, so she didn't say anything at first. But when she heard that the miller had been hanged, she ran out and told as many people as she could. Word spread around town.

_She killed her own sister._

_I heard it was over a man._

_No, it was over money and land._

_That miller who was hanged in –port last week was innocent._

The mob came that night. They broke open my house and dragged me from my family, grabbing me by the arms and rushing me away. My parents were horrified, Edward, confused. Though I knew it was futile, panic set in and I tried to escape, tearing at the iron hands that held me. But it was hopeless.

We passed John's aunt's estate, and I saw him in the window. His eyes were full of pain and suffering. _He knew_.

And now, here I am, being dragged along the streets. I can see the massive pot they have up on the platform in the town square, and I know what's in it.

The miller was lucky that his town performed hangings.

I am a murderer and, in my town, they boil murderers in lead.

Two Sisters

_There were two sisters, side by side,_

_Sing aye dum, sing aye day_

_There were two sisters, side by side,_

_The boys are born for me_

_There were two sisters, side by side,_

_The eldest for young Johnny cried,_

'_I'll be true unto my love,_

_If he'll be true to me."_

_Johnny bought the youngest a gay gold ring,_

_Sing aye dum, sing aye day_

_Johnny bought the youngest a gay gold ring,_

_The boys are born for me_

_Johnny bought the youngest a gay gold ring,_

_He never bought the eldest a single thing,_

_I'll be true unto my love,_

_If he'll be true to me._

_Johnny bought the youngest a beaver hat,_

_Sing aye dum, sing aye day_

_Johnny bought the youngest a beaver hat,_

_The boys are born for me_

_Johnny bought the youngest a beaver hat,_

_The eldest didn't think much of that,_

_I'll be true unto my love,_

_If he'll be true to me._

_As they were walking by the foamy brim,_

_Sing aye dum, sing aye day,_

_As they were walking by the foamy brim,_

_The boys are born for me_

_As they were walking by the foamy brim,_

_The eldest pushed the youngest in,_

_I'll be true unto my love,_

_If he'll be true to me._

_Sister, oh sister, give me thy hand_

_Sing aye dum, sing aye day_

_Sister, oh sister, give me thy hand_

_The boys are born for me_

_Sister, oh sister, give me thy hand_

_And you can have Johnny and all his land,_

_I'll be true unto my love,_

_If he'll be true to me._

_Sister, I'll not give you my hand,_

_Sing aye dum, sing aye day_

_Sister, I'll not give you my hand,_

_The boys are born for me_

_Sister, I'll not give you my hand,_

_And I'll have Johnny and all his land,_

_I'll be true unto my love,_

_If he'll be true to me._

_So there she sank and away she swum,_

_Sing aye dum, sing aye day_

_So there she sank and away she swum,_

_The boys are born for me_

_So there she sank and away she swum,_

_Until she came to the miller's dam,_

_I'll be true unto my love,_

_If he'll be true to me._

_The miller took away her gay gold ring,_

_Sing aye dum, sing aye day_

_The miller took away her gay gold ring,_

_The boys are born for me_

_The miller took away her gay gold ring,_

_And then he pushed her in again,_

_I'll be true unto my love,_

_If he'll be true to me._

_The miller, he was hanged on the mountain head,_

_Sing aye dum, sing aye day_

_The miller, he was hanged on the mountain head,_

_The boys are born for me_

_The miller, he was hanged on the mountain head,_

_The eldest sister was boiled in lead,_

_I'll be true unto my love,_

_If he'll be true to me._

A/N: So, whatcha think? Rather morbid, I know, but ironically, this song sounds all happy and cheerful. Anyway, I'm almost out of my blue funk and, as soon as my beta has worked her magic, this will be up. Which would be before you read this…


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